


Four Times Corteo Could Have Run Away and the One Time He Didn't

by Lady_Spindle



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Corteo had plenty of chances to run, Drama, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, but he didn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15939047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Spindle/pseuds/Lady_Spindle
Summary: An exploration of four times Corteo could have escaped the mafia alive, how things could have ended differently, but ultimately, why they didn't.





	Four Times Corteo Could Have Run Away and the One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Each of the headings has a song name from the Legend of Korra soundtrack...highly recommend listening to the particular song per section. 
> 
>  
> 
> I did and made myself sad.

_1\. Don't sell to the Mafia (Good ol Days)_

When Angelo returns after seven years, he is overjoyed.  He’s willing to overlook so much: Angelo’s disappearance the night after he told them they were brothers, where Angelo had been, how he had found Corteo, why the bright glimmer in his eyes had dimmed to something detached, calculating, and not quite human…

 

But it was _Angelo_ ,and for him, Corteo rarely found reason to deny him anything. 

 

_They were brothers, weren't they?_

After casually beating the shit out of Cerotto’s big brother, Angelo asks the unthinkable:

 

“I want you to sell to the family.”

 

Corteo balks, no, he outright refuses.  Has Angelo forgotten what the mafia has done to him? Left him orphaned and alone?

 

Without batting an eye, Angelo slides a letter across the table.  Corteo scans it and feels his stomach drop. He hasn’t forgotten what the mafia has done, it’s possible he has clung to the memories too well. 

_This is a revenge plot,_ he thinks, _my alcohol is the perfect way in._

“I go by Avilio now,” he informs Corteo in the same tone as when he asked him to sell to the family. Part of it infuriates Corteo.

 

The other part, usually the dominant, wants to cave to Angelo - Avilio’s - request, to fold around his every word and somehow make right what has been wronged, like Corteo tried to do seven years ago, as he would have done every single day in between had he been given the chance.

 

But to sell to the family…

 

Corteo looks over the hollow shell of his best friend, his brother, taking in the bags under his eyes, his slim build, his threadbare clothes.  _I can’t let him go through with this._

 

“Ang- er - Avilio, I can’t - I won’t.”  He tries to sound firm, “I won’t sell to the family.  I don’t...whatever you’re doing...I wish you wouldn’t…”

 

Angelo glares at him, a glint of light catching in his amber eyes, belying some of their former warmth (or perhaps it was a trick of the electric lighting).  “Don’t try to dissuade me,” he mutters sourly.

 

“I…” Corteo falters, “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.  But I can’t let you use my alcohol to get involved with the mafia.”

 

He expects Angelo to lash out, storm away (he’d just single handedly taken down a man twice his size, after all).

 

But Angelo shrugs, all apathy, “thank you. I’ll stay until I can find another way in.”

 

Corteo hopes to God he won’t find another way, though if he knows anything, it’s  that the moment Angelo becomes hellbent on something, nothing stands a chance were it to get in his way.

* * *

__

_2\. Just go to College (War)_

Avilio hands him a stack of money and his first impulse is to throw it back into his face. 

“Go to college,” he says, as if any of this is simple anymore.  Corteo is not brewing in his kitchen for some extra funds anymore, people have died, they’re in too deep, in so, so deep.  And Avilio most of all.

 

“Just kill Nero,” Corteo begs, “then we can leave this place.”

 

“I can kill Nero anytime,” Avilio insists, but Corteo is beginning to suspect this is a lie.  He’s had ample opportunities, a gross amount really, and every time, he falls short, some excuse on his tongue.

 

Corteo is sick of it.  He shouldn’t take the money. Beside Angelo is where he belongs and what sort of person would he be to leave now in Angelo’s hour of need.  This revenge is cutting him open, stripping away his insides layer by layer until he’s not sure what remains, (or if there was ever anything really to lose).  He’s losing himself in the web he’s woven, Avilio, Angelo, Nero, Lagusa, Vanetti - Corteo wonders if he knows where one ends and the other begins. He shouldn’t go.  He should stay and see this through to the bitter end, because nothing makes sense but his love for Angelo and yet…

 

This whole mess was Angelo’s doing, he chose revenge when he could have been content with Corteo’s brotherhood.  He flung himself into the lions den and relished as he was torn apart…

 

Corteo takes the money.  This is what he came here for after all, money to fulfil his dreams.  He pulls out a scrap of paper and writes down the name of the university he will be attending and presses it into Angelo’s hand.

 

“Kill Nero, then come find me.”

 

Angelo releases a breath, as though he’s been holding it in, “I will”.

 

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes (it hasn’t, Corteo thinks, for seven years).

 

Corteo waves to Angelo as he leaves. 

 

He is never going to see him again.

* * *

 

_3\. Take the deal with Fango (Hardboiled...Afraid (Separate Ways))_

“Brew alcohol for the Fango,” Cerotto tells him in earnest, “prohibition is ending soon, so Fango wants to have a good source of revenue prepared for when it does.”

 

Corteo’s knee-jerk reaction is to say no. He still hates the mafia (hates how the mafia has swept up the one person he cares about, how close _Nero_ has become to him-).

 

Cerotto is also _very drunk_ and Corteo is not certain he believes everything he says at face value, though he’s never steered him wrong…

 

The thought of working for Fango - the thought that Fango _personally_ requested him - repulses Coreto beyond words.  But as it stands…

 

Corteo isn’t certain he can stand another day in the Vanetti house, seeing Nero practically _dote_ over Angelo, seeing Angelo comfort Nero.

 

_Starting today, we’re brothers._ He hears Angelo say, softly, intimately, meant only for Nero’s ears in the dead of night...

 

It should fill him with rage but instead there is only sadness, and in some dark horrible part of himself he blames himself for not loving Angelo more.

 

Maybe it’s time, maybe he should have done so sooner, but he’s never had the will or the rationale to divorce his plans from Angelo’s , no matter how far gone they became.

 

He dragged Corteo with him, because he was all too willing to help, and left him to watch helplessly at arms length as the Vanetti’s stripped away piece by piece the man he loves;  every death a new wound, never to be healed.

 

Angelo’s revenge is going to kill him, and Corteo can’t bear to continue watching.

 

Fango is revolting, but Corteo won’t have to watch his veritable brother self destruct, and in this family, he’ll be important, he’ll be _valued._

 

He pours himself a glass of Lawless Heaven and downs it much too fast.  Before the kick of alcohol can cloud his common sense he holds his hand out to shake.  Cerotto takes it in both of his hands, squeezing them tight.

 

“Well?”

 

“I’ll do it.”

* * *

 

_4\. Run away to Chicago with Cerotto (Korra confronts Tarrlock)_

Cerotto is one of the flightiest people Corteo knows, but tonight is different.  Corteo can see his pronounced twitchiness even through the haze of alcohol.  He needs to get to Fango and take the deal, he sold out the Vanettis, he’s not safe in Lawless anymore. 

 

_Fango’s men had one job._ He thinks, _had they only killed Nero then Angelo would have no more reason to stay and he could leave and be with me -_

“Come to Chicago with me,” Cerotto blurts, as though he’s been holding the thought in for weeks.  Cerotto likes him, it’s not something he’s hidden, the nature of his feelings hasn’t been clear (maybe until now).

 

“Run away to Chicago?” Corteo echos.  He can’t think straight, too much booze, too much stress too much - why did he sell out the Vanettis? What had he been thinking?  _Why wouldn’t Angelo just LISTEN TO HIM ANYMORE???_

Cerotto’s hand is a warm weight on his shoulder, causing Corteo to whip his head around.

 

“Please, come with me, I have enough gas to make it to the city.  Let’s just leave this town, ok?” His pupils are dilated with fear, he’s shaking, sweating, “Please...don’t go onto that island.”

 

Their faces are barely a foot apart, Cerotto’s fingers dig into his shoulder almost to the point of pain. Corteo thinks of all the times he begged Angelo to turn back, to cut his losses, to give up his fool’s errand.  He knows exactly how Cerotto feels.

 

“Ok” his voice is rough, “ok...Chicago...I’ll go.”

 

“Thank God,” Cerotto groans and lets his forehead fall against Corteo’s shoulder for a brief second of unadulterated relief before he realizes what he’s doing and pulls back, key in the ignition, hands and feet following a familiar routine. 

 

They pull onto the road, away from Fango’s island, away from the Vanetti’s iron reach, and Corteo lets himself sit back into his seat. 

 

He wonders if, after Cerotto sold Serpente’s body to the police, if Corteo had asked _him_ to run away to Chicago, what might have been his answer.

 

Corteo takes a moment to peer over at Cerotto, willing to give up the life he knew to help Corteo escape.

 

He would have said yes.

* * *

 

_5\. The one time he didn't (Before)_

When Ganzo calls, he knows what he must do. He knows it’s the end of the line, but he always knew he’d follow Angelo to the bitter end. 

 

Even now, when he knows Angelo doesn’t really need him, when he hasn’t needed him for the better part of three months.  All Corteo has left is Angelo, doing this one last thing for him, ensuring he can complete his revenge...

 

It’s the least he can do.

   

The last two weeks were pure bliss.  Somehow, he fit a lifetime of happiness into those fourteen days.  Just the two of them, living together in easy company, it’s all he’s ever wanted.

 

But Angelo predictably has to leave, has to finish the plot that is whittling out his insides despite Corteo’s every attempt to weave his broken off parts lovingly back together. 

 

And Corteo could leave, he could run as he could have so many times.  Instead he waits for Angelo and waits and waits but instead of Angelo he gets Ganzo and the pieces fall into place.

 

He’s not afraid to die.  Angelo liked to quote his father in saying “a reason to live is a powerful thing”.  Corteo lost his reason the moment “Avilio Bruno” fell in with the Vanettis, when he drew close to Nero and refused to let go. Dying to clear Angelo’s name felt fitting: he didn’t need a reason to live, just a suitable outcome to his death.

 

When Nero presses the revolver to Angelo’s chest, the gesture is far to familiar and it nauseates Corteo.  At least Angelo jumps at the contact, barely concealed anger flashing blink-and-you’ll-miss-it in his eyes.

 

He knows Angelo has been choosing Nero over him from the start, it makes no sense for that to change now. It should hurt more than it does, but Corteo fell for Angelo, seven years, three months ago and he’s devoted himself to this man entirely.  It’s pathetic, and useless, but he would die for Angelo again and again if needed. 

 

Angelo raises the gun at him.  There is anguish in his eyes, the kind of emotion Corteo has not seen in him for months (except what he directed at Nero), he relishes a bit, that he’s finally able to make Angelo feel a fraction for him, as he feels for Angelo.  His gold eyes flicker with pain, it’s clear: _this was not supposed to happen_.

 

It’s sweet, to think that after all this time, Angelo thinks he’s the one who has been protecting Corteo, when really it’s been Corteo shielding him - given the chance he would have done so for the past seven years, and every day of the infinitesimal future.

 

But there is none of this now, only this one moment.  So Corteo will shield Angelo again.

 

“It’s okay,” his voice doesn’t even waver.  He raises his hand to wave as Angelo presses back against the trigger, “we’re broth-”

 

 

He’s never going to see Angelo again.

* * *

 

[end]

 

 

 


End file.
